That Corkscrew Comet Jet
by InkTippedQuill
Summary: Kurt visits Karofsky following the locker room scene in "Never Been Kissed". Eventual Kurtofsky romance. Possible multi-chaptered story, depending on interest. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**That Corkscrew Comet Jet**

**A response to "Never Been Kissed". Depending on popularity/reception, this will be a multi-chaptered story. Kurtofsky. Rated T for the moment. Review please, I don't usually write in the third person, so I'd love criticism if any issues with tense continuity occur. Title taken from the Sylvia Plath poem "Sonnet to Satan", not sure of relevance, just liked the phrase. Open to Title suggestions.**

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Despite what Jacob Ben Israel's blog said, Kurt Hummel was not an exceptionally cruel individual. Sure, he had no concerns telling Rachel "I'm-a-star" Berry her style reminded him of his Great Aunt Mildred, but he figures not to do so would be a crime against humanity. No, Kurt Hummel, for all his flaws, was raised with the belief that compassion and empathy would get you further than underhanded schemes. It was a rule that governed his life. Well, at least for the most part.

It was this belief that found him standing on the porch of one Dave "Neanderthal" Karofsky. For what seemed like hours, Kurt had stood alone in the guy's locker room, one shaky hand raised to press against his bruised lips. When he had confronted the jock, he went with the knowledge he was facing certain death. To say he was more than a little surprised by the turn of events was an understatement. Never could he have imagined the brusque football player reacting by … by how he ... Kurt shook his head; he obviously needed more processing time.

"Excuse me?" Kurt was shaken from his thoughts by the appearance of a middle-aged woman peering behind the front door. "What are you doing on my porch? If you're here to cause trouble I'll have to ask you to leave."

Kurt stuttered, "Uh, I-I'm looking for Karofs- Dave. Is Da- Is he home?"

The woman, Neanderthal's mother if the solid build was anything to go by, looked sceptical but nevertheless motioned Kurt inside. She led him towards a set of narrow stairs, before wandering off.

Kurt couldn't help but feel as though this was one of the most stupid ideas he had ever had. Karofsky had made his life a complete hell, and he had more than one bruise to show for the larger boy's efforts. Why did the uncultured ignoramus even deserve a smidgen of his compassion? What had suddenly changed Kurt's unremitting hate? If anything, Kurt should be engaging in some serious reputation killing gossip right about now.

When Kurt entered Karofsky's basement he couldn't mask his gasp of surprise. Turning to flee up the stairs, Kurt hoped his inhalation wasn't loud enough to rouse the attention of the other occupants in the room.

"The fuck!" Karofsky boomed, quickly followed by an indignant shriek as the football player shoved a half naked Cheerio off his lap.

"Get the fuck off me," he told the girl as he fumbled with his unzipped fly. His face reddened as he took in Kurt's widened eyes. What the fuck was _he_ doing here?

"Whatever, I'm out Karofsky. It wasn't as if you were _up_ for it anyway." With a flick of her hair, the girl rushed past Kurt.

For a moment, Kurt was unsure what to do. If he were in his right mind, he'd turn around and slam the front door on his way out. But the shame that quickly spread across the meat-head's face made him pause. It seemed as though it were an afternoon full of surprises.

"_Merde_," Kurt muttered under his breath. This was _not_ supposed to be in the job description. It was supposed to be quick and simple, talk to Karofsky about support networks, blackmail him to quit the bullying, and most importantly, get the hell out of there as fast as possible so he could meet Blaine for a Chai Latte date. Now, he was stuck with a six foot three, two-fifty pound football and hockey player, with anger management issues and an unstable emotional state.

The sound of Karofsky's heavy breathing pulled Kurt out of his thoughts, and the smaller boy took a step further into the room.

"Well, isn't this … quaint," he motioned to the décor, in a pathetic attempt to break the awkward silence.

"What do you want Faggot?" Karofsky growled, avoiding eye contact.

Kurt bristled, "Ah, my favourite pet name. How your aptitude of wit astounds me, you recalcitrant asshole."

"Don't push me, you queer!"

Kurt barked in laughter, the sound cruel and harsh even to his ears. "Karofsky, my Neanderthal friend, I believe _that_ insult is moot considering recent … developments."

Karofsky slammed his fist on the small television set, "Shut the fuck up, Hummel."

"Listen ignoramus, I'm only going to say this once. Stop getting so violent! You need to find a healthy outlet, you can't keep fighting this through promiscuous behaviour with girls..." He chuckled, "Believe me I've tried."

Karofsky snorted. It was impossible to imagine the effeminate boy under a writhing Cheerio, those two images totally did not mix.

"Fine, I tried it _once_ with Britney." He shuddered, "Heterosexuality is so _nasty_. I mean, really, give me a tall, dark and handsome man any day."

Karofsky growled, "Do you have a point ladyman?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, "You really need to come up with new material. Your ingenuity and creativity are really lacking, though I suppose that's not a surprise considering the amount of brain cells you've lost from the skull-crushing games you enjoy so much. My _point _is," he took a deep breath, "I can't believe I'm about to do this. My point is, if you need to talk, I'm here and I wont … your secret is safe with me."

Karofsky looked up at Kurt in surprise, "You'd do that? For me –"

"I'm doing it because I'm sick of dry-cleaning my Yves Saint Laurent Fall 2010 Collection. The fabric's too gentle to not be damaged from your brutal corn-syrup washes. Really, considering your sexual preference, I'm surprised by your continual attacks."

"Hey! Those slushies were always the same colour as your precious jackets." Kurt blinked slowly at Karofsky's defence, a smirk forming as realisation sunk in.

"My, my," Kurt drawled, "how _considerate_ of you. Why, one could even say how damn right chivalrous of you. It's almost as if you have feelings for –"

Karofsky lunged towards Kurt, one fist in his shirt as he slammed him into the wall, "I've warned you, Hummel."

A shudder of fear ran through Kurt's body, though whether it was from the raised fist or from the niggling want to feel the other boy's lips against his, Kurt couldn't tell. He sighed, why did the idiotic boy make his blood boil so?

"What are you going to do? Hit me?" Kurt taunted, "Kiss me?"

Karofsky tightened his grip. Kurt winced as his back scraped against the wall.

"Leave me alone, Hummel," Karofsky near whimpered, "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"You're hurting me!"

Karofsky pressed harder. Without thought, Kurt's hands came to rest on Karofsky's chest, ready to push him away, but stopped at the feel of Karofsky's heart thudding at an increased rate. Kurt gasped. Their eyes locked. As though in a trance, Karofsky lowered the slight boy to the ground, one stray finger brushing against Kurt's exposed collarbone. Kurt shivered, his chin lifted in defiance as Karofsky bent closer. Flushed skin, parted lips, Kurt couldn't help the flutter of his lashes as he watched the tip of Karofsky's tongue dart out to moisten his lips. How could something so simple cause a tingle of energy up his spine? He should be disappointed the breath caressing his skin did not smell minty fresh like Blaine. _But it's so _masculine_, so male_, that niggling voice at the back of his head thought.

With a strangled groan, Karofsky pushed away from Kurt in an attempt to put as much distance between them as possible.

This time, it was Kurt who fled.

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**Once again, please review, let me know if this is worth continuing. I know this chapter is very rough, un-beta'd too, just had to write. Cheers. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I cannot thank you enough for all the overwhelming support you've given me. Hopefully this chapter satisfies. Be sure to drop me a line and let me know :) Once again unbeta-ed. All mistakes are my own.**

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Chapter Two

Burt Hummel had just snuck into the garage when he got the phone call. Kurt had often spoke of the Glee teacher's excessive caring nature - caring to the point his sixteen year old would roll his eyes and declare, "he makes a Mark Fast signature clingy knit look positively voluminous", though Burt wasn't sure what knitting had to do with his son's high school teacher. Despite Kurt's warnings, Burt couldn't help take the phone call seriously.

"Mr Hummel, I don't mean to alarm you but Kurt's having a difficult time at school. He's being bullied because of his …" There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Because my son can be quite in your face about the fact he's gay?" Burt finished.

Mr Schuester chuckled, "I think you've raised an extremely well-adjusted young man, however I'd be lying if I said everyone at school was comfortable with his effervescent nature. It is Lima after all."

"Hmm," Burt was well aware of the prejudice in Lima. Just the other day he'd received an anonymous text message telling him his "faggot son" should watch out. It was why he'd installed the new heavy-duty lock system on all the doors and windows in the house.

"Now, Kurt usually brushes the attacks off," Mr Schuester continued. "Recently I've noticed a change in his attitude at school. He's becoming withdrawn, angry, increasingly bitter. I just wanted to make you aware of the situation, I've spoken to him but I have a duty of care to be certain he's getting the support he needs at home."

"Those football players again? Thought that died down when he became Kicker?" Burt asked gruffly, no parent liked seeing his child suffer.

"With Kurt off the football team this season, they've no more reason for a sense of loyalty. To put bluntly though, homophobia seems more likely to be the cause."

"I'll speak to him," Burt promised. "Got a client, but thanks for the call."

The man before him acknowledged his presence before wandering off to look around the shop. Burt Hummel liked to think himself a decent judge of character, he didn't have any fancy-schmancy certificate in Psychology but he figured his gut was all he needed to be able to tell right from wrong. This bloke in front of him, however, certainly wasn't giving him any reason to trust him. He'd heard of him before of course, Steve Karofsky was known around Lima for his unwavering mean streak. A great big hulking man, it's been said he's used his weight to keep the Missus in check more than once. Burt wasn't a saint, that was true enough, but he knew it wasn't ever right to hit a lady.

"Can I help you?" Burt asked. He may not like the look of the guy, but business was business and times sure were tough.

"Steve Karofsky," the man held out his hand. "Got problems with the ol' girl. Think it's the engine."

"Burt," he shook the hand. "Karofsky, huh? You got a boy on the football team?"

"That'd be right. Dave plays on the Hockey team as well."

"My Kurt was Kicker last year," Burt added as he lifted the hood of Karofsky's car. He felt rather than saw Karofsky stiffen. The unease in his gut began to flutter.

"The little dancing poof is your son?"

Burt froze in disbelief. Unbidden, a deep gravelly voice whispered over a faulty telephone line at midnight. This man, a grown man, was behind the threatening phone calls? The reason why he spent countless nights sleeping by the front door just incase? He growled, speaking slowly, "I think you should take your business elsewhere. I don't serve to thugs."

Senior Karofsky gritted his teeth, cracked his knuckles and spat in Burt's direction before climbing into his car. "You and that little faggot better watch your backs. I know people, all it'd take is a phone call before your little business goes down the drain."

Burt breathed slowly. He knew this was just a small taste of what Kurt experienced on a day-to-day basis. It made him want to lock Kurt inside until he was thirty. Perhaps by then Lima, Ohio would have a little more sense when it came to tolerance.

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When Kurt arrived home, Burt was waiting, "Got a call from your school today. Want to tell me what's going on?"

Kurt ignored him, "Dad have you been cleaning around here? How many times have I told you not to? The doctor said –"

"The doctor can shove whatever quack decision up his arse. Let's get one thing straight Kurt, I'm the parent. I look after you. Now d'you mind telling me why Mr Schuester felt the need to call today?" Burt repeated. The boy was quick to deflect, a trait that had driven Burt crazy from his wife and now, undoubtedly from Kurt too.

Kurt waved a hand in dismissal, "You know Mr Schue, Dad, he's as tightly wound as they come."

Burt narrowed his eyes. He may not be the best father, and he may not understand the whole "boy on boy" thing Kurt was so set on, but he could tell when his son was lying. And right now, Kurt was keeping mom on something big. The line of his shoulders were drawn tight toward his ears, his mouth set in grim concentration, his mother's eyes clouded over in confusion.

"Something _did_ happen today," Burt declared, and patted a spot next to him on the couch. "Those football players again?"

Kurt sighed as he sank next to his father. The man wouldn't be able to pick decent cologne if it hit him in the face, but Kurt would never want to mask his father's natural scent. "It's nothing Dad, just a bunch of boneheaded morons short of one too many brain cells. I mean seriously Dad; they wouldn't even be able to tell the difference between a timeless Hermes silk twill tie and one from a throw out bin at Wal-Mart."

Burt shook his head, "If they've been giving you trouble –"

Kurt remained silent. He still couldn't believe what had happened in the locker room. And again at Karofsky's house. He inwardly groaned, what would even possess him to go over to that idi – that ass - _His_ house? He may as well have lathered himself in meat juices and walked into the lion cage at Columbus Zoo. Only Prada knew how bad things would be at school tomorrow.

"Kurt, you'd tell me if something serious happened, right?"

The concern in his dad's voice brought him up short. Kurt knew his father was protective of him, especially considering his effeminate nature, but it sounded like something had happened to _him_ today too.

"Did you get one of those calls again?" He asked, seeking his father's eyes for confirmation. "When? Today?"

"Something like that," Burt murmured.

Kurt felt his blood boil. He knew Karofsky would retaliate in some form or another to save face, but this was an all-time low. What kind of intractable browbeat would even consider …

"… making abusive phone calls to my father after he kissed me! That ignoramus doesn't deserve to live on the bottom of a pair of last season patent leather pumps from _Target_, let alone _breathe_ the same air as me. And to think I wanted to kiss him back!"

"What?" Burt roared. If he ever ran into that _creep_ Steve Karofsky, he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions.

Kurt froze from his pacing as he realized he had spoken aloud. He felt his face burn in embarrassment. _Of all things big, bold, and beautiful_, he thought, _could this day get any worse?_ At a glance at his father's thunderous expression, he knew it could.

"Dad, I've had a really strange day," Kurt sighed, "can we please talk about this later? All I want to do is soak in a nice hot bath with my guava exfoliating scrub."

His father didn't look pleased, but after a moment reluctantly nodded. Breathing a sigh in relief, Kurt made his way to the bathroom. He had some serious thinking to do, but a long soak would do him good. Perhaps he'll text Blaine too.

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It was two a.m. and Dave Karofsky couldn't fall asleep. His gut felt like he had mutant brick-butterflies in it, he couldn't stop sweating, and more than once an involuntary groan had escaped between his lips. He'd tried to stamp the feeling down but for some reason his favourite spank-bank material wasn't cutting it.

Dinner had been hell. His dad had been furious when he'd come home, stinking of beer and swearing about something that hadn't gone his way that day. Dave hated when his dad was in one of his moods. It sucked. Home was crap as it is, what with his older brother too busy being a lazy shit and his mum constantly nagging at him to do his homework or some shit. But when his dad came home … when his dad came home Dave just wanted to hide away. He wasn't a violent man, at least not to Dave or his brothers he wasn't. It was the shouting he couldn't stand, and tonight's dinner had been no exception.

"You wouldn't believe the bullshit I had to put up with today," his father had begun and Dave had shrunk in his chair to avoid being included. "There I was, at that mechanics garage, paying good money for my car to get fixed when the asshole owner refused to serve me. All because I called his son a poof."

Dave shuddered as he remembered the twisted sneer on his father's face.

"You know the one, don't you Davie? Was Kicker for your team last season?" His father looked in his direction, "Dancing faggot. Shouldn't be allowed, they go prancing around like they own the place. Well, it's God's law they're breaking. Makes me sick. I can't tell you how many times I've counted my lucky stars none of you lot turned into faggy pansies."

Dave had made the mistake by hunching his shoulders, steadfastly staring at his plate.

"Oi, what's with you? Sit up straight and look at me when I'm talking to you. And eat your damn dinner don't play with it. Your ma's slaved away at that and I work too damn hard to have you wasting perfectly good food."

Thankfully, it hadn't turned ugly, but Dave still had to make some offhand comment about how Hummel made him want to puke his guts out.

The twisting feeling in his stomach grew more noticeable, and Dave found himself blinking back tears. If his dad ever found out what had happened today… He shuddered. There was only one thing to do. He had to try real hard to forget about Hummel, he'd get himself a girlfriend, make his pa proud.

_You don't want a girlfriend though, do you?_ The voice in his head sneered. Dave sighed, what was it about Kurt "fancy pants" Hummel?

_Those soft lips_, the voice murmured, _what you wouldn't give to have those pink lips wrapped around your –_

Dave groaned. There was no point denying it. He may have had trouble with the Cheerio this afternoon, but there was nothing wrong with his junk. And when he'd almost kissed Hummel a second time today, it was as if the other boy wanted him just as bad.

_Even though you are chubby and sweat too much_, the voice whispered again. Maybe, Dave thought, he should do something to slim down? Would Hummel want him then?

Heart hammering, boxers uncomfortably tight, Dave had a sudden urge to hear Hummel's voice. It had been ages since he'd called the boy in the middle of the night. The first time he'd done it, Azimio had dared him to. The plan was to call him a fag, tell him he'd better watch his back and then hang up, but when Hummel had answered the phone, voice rough and husky from sleep, Karofsky had found a new reason to call.

Without pause, Dave grabbed his phone and dialled the memorised number. For what seemed like an age, Dave held his breath as he waited. Suddenly, a voice filled the other line. But it wasn't the voice he wanted, and he was filled with a sharp pang of disappointment he wasn't ready to acknowledge.

Out of frustration he hissed, "That faggot of yours better watch it", and quickly hung up.

Sleep would be a long time coming.

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Over at the Hummel's house, Burt placed the phone back in its cradle and padded towards the linen closet. Reaching for the sleeping bag, he sighed at the thought of another night by the front door. Just incase.

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**Please review - currently, I'm going to try and update weekly, but I'll always let you know if life has come up and there will be a delay. Cheers. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the late update. The past few episodes have really thrown me. I tell you, Ryan Murphy better get his act together soon, he's throwing away an amazingly layered sub-plot (though I did love Kurt and Blaine's "Baby It's Cold Outside") I'm really not happy with this chapter. I struggled to write it, particularly after "Furt" - obviously this story is AU, but I'd love to keep the characters as canon as possible. I'm changing this story to 'M'. Karofsky's become quite a "physical" character, I think it's a realistic interpretation for a teen struggling with his sexuality, considering they are a bag of pent up hormones as it is. Let me know if you agree with my "Karofsky voice". **

**Apologies in advanced for the epically sucky ending. This chapter was frustrating me so much, I just had to post it and leave it be. Next chapter will be up fairly soon, already outlined in my head. **

**Finally, because I hate reading A/N myself, I'd just love to thank everyone for your support. All of your lovely reviews have brightened my days considerable, as have the 120+ favourites and story alerts! So, for all you reviewers and silent readers (yes, I too am guilty) drop me a line, let me know if you loved it, hated it, wanted to gouge my eyes out. I don't bite. **

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Chapter Three

Dave Karofsky woke to sticky sheets and a sinking feeling of shame. It wasn't the first time he'd had to change his bedding during his adolescence, it wasn't even the first time he'd had a sex dream about a guy (well, Kurt). But this time, he had something physical to draw on. He had touch, and taste, and smell, and it was all so overwhelming and unbelievable and just thinking of Kurt's swollen lips under his own made him want to reach into his pants and pump out his release.

_Fucking hell!_ He thought as he stripped the sheets and made his way as discreetly as possible to the laundry. He was in way over his head.

As soon as Dave dumped his junk-filled sheets in the washer, he headed towards his backyard. His dad had reluctantly set up a punching bag after Dave had been suspended in middle school for punching the lights out of some kid. It had shamed his father, not to be called into the school for his son's aggressive behaviour, but because his good-for-nothing son had got caught. Dave had learnt the hard way how to keep your fists up but your head down.

After a solid thirty minutes, the heady arousal only just began abating. Dave's arms swung in a time old rhythm made perfect by hours of practice.

Right hook, left hook, jab.

_Screw Hummel, he's a fucking pansy._

Right hook, left hook, jab.

_Prancing around like a fucking faggot._

Right hook, left hook, jab.

_Fucking teasing me, egging me on._

Right hook, left hook, jab.

_Fucking tight clothes showing off his perfect ass._

Right, left, jab.

_Pouting those pink fucking lips._

Right, left, jab.

_Licking those pink fucking lips._

Right, left, jab.

_Wrapping those pink fucking lips around –_

"Fuck!" Dave yelled, as his right fist made a sickening crunch against the punching bag. "Shit, shit, shit."

Dave rushed inside to get a bag of frozen peas, gingerly cradling his arm to his chest.

"Oh Dave, not the open packet!" His mother sighed before getting up from her breakfast to fetch an ice pack.

Dave sat with the rest of his family, hissing when he jostled his hand as he pulled out his chair. His father sat at the head of table as usual, hiding behind the morning newspaper.

"Lemme see," his dad barked. Dave was reluctant to show his wound, it wouldn't be the first time his father had scoffed at his pain. In impatience, Steve swiped out to grab at Dave's hand. He moaned in pain. Barely sparing a cursory glance, Steve dropped Dave's hand on the table. "S'nothin', he don't need an ice pack Pam. Let him toughen up."

Dave watched as his mother eyed his hand in concern. For once, he wished she'd stand up to his dad and tell him she knew best. Taking in her clouded eyes, furrowed brow, and pursed lips, Dave knew his mom would once again take his dad's side. He loved his mom, but when it came to Steve Karofsky, she was weak as piss. His throat burned in disappointment. Teeth gritted, Dave looked at his swollen fist, noticed the bruising beginning to form, and reluctantly handed back the ice pack to his mother.

"S'alright Mom," Dave muttered, "doesn't hurt."

"Damn straight it doesn't," his father was quick to add. "No son of mine is a weak pansy boy."

His brother was quick to change the subject, "Good dream last night Dave? You got a girl in your life?"

"Fuck off," Dave growled.

His father grinned in approval. It was right for a boy Dave's age to start bringing girls home, even if it were just for a quick root.

"Who is she then?" His father cackled.

Dave frowned; Kurt may act like a girl, but the firm lips and surprisingly strong jaw Dave found beneath fingers and lips were _all _male.

_Oh God_, Dave blushed at the thought, avoiding his father's "knowing" smirk.

If his shower ran longer than usual, he couldn't be blamed.

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Mercedes Jones knew when something was on her boy's mind. All day her best friend had been acting different, at one point going so far as to hide behind her in the halls between class-time. He'd even refused to eat lunch in the cafeteria, saying he had to finish his French homework, though Mercedes was sure their French teacher hadn't set any. Or at least, that's what she believed "aucune quantité d'éducation ne vous donnera la finesse du Français" to mean. To make Mercedes more suspicious, Kurt hadn't even commented on what she was wearing today, and she knew she looked smoking. Not noticing her newest pair of shoes ought to be illegal.

"Ok, you got to spill. Something's on your mind and you better come clean," Mercedes said, blocking Kurt's entrance to their math class.

Kurt sighed; the fact that Mercedes could read him like an open book was really getting old. It was times like this he hated the Gay best friend routine. Sure, props to the creators of _Will & Grace_ for putting the gay man/straight woman relationship on the map, but surely such openness wasn't healthy or helpful, particularly if you had something to hide.

He smiled, "Nothing's wrong Mercedes, I guess the stress of caring for my dad is getting to me." He couldn't help the slip of his smile, using his sick father for an excuse was almost as bad as Tina's fake stutter fiasco.

Mercedes frowned, seemingly unconvinced, "If you're sure …"

"Please, would I lie to such a fabulous friend as thee? By the way, whoever said stripes couldn't be paired with Christian Louboutin Leopard-Print Lace-Up Booties were so wrong. You look gorgeous Mercedes."

Mercedes grinned, this was the boy she knew and loved. "Thanks! My dad gave them to me, a pity present since he's always working late at the surgery, but they were just too fabulous to pass up!"

Kurt inwardly sighed in relief that he got away unscathed. He knew he wasn't being as attentive towards Mercedes and his fellow Glee clubbers as he usually was, but he just couldn't help feeling completely out of his depth since the events of the past few days. Dave Karofsky hadn't left Kurt's mind since the moment he'd crushed his lips against Kurt's own. It had been rough and bruising, something Kurt would have sworn he'd never want out of a kiss, especially his first. When he was a little boy, he'd envision the perfect mood – candlelight perhaps, or at his front door after a first date. Yes, clichéd but deliciously classic. The boy he'd have been with would lean in, brushing a strand of unruly hair behind Kurt's ear before gently cupping his cheek, one rogue finger caressing his perfectly exfoliated skin. And then… and then, their lips would touch for the most perfect split second, soft and moist, before drawing away in a grin. Kurt's heart fluttered, it had been anything but with Karofsky.

_It had been better than you imagined__ with Karofsky_, a voice flitted in Kurt's head.

Kurt couldn't suppress the shudder that ran down his spine at the thought of the older boy's brutal kiss. It had been powerful, aggressive and … and …

"Oh God. _So_ hot," Kurt groaned.

"Mr Hummel, are you ok?" Mrs. Brown, Kurt's math teacher asked. "You're looking a little flushed. Did you say you had a fever?"

Kurt blushed; he _really_ needed to stop speaking out loud. "I –"

"I'll write you a note for the nurse's office."

With a heavy dose of reluctance, Kurt made his way to the nurse's office. The place was notorious for smelling like wet dog and urine, though whether it was from the nurse's infamous incontinence problems or the fact Jacob Ben Israel was so traumatised over his first wedgie he'd come to the nurse to seek a numbing cream and lost all control over his bladder, Kurt wasn't sure. Either way, the smell had been enough to turn off ninety-seven per cent of truants – the other three were made up of hypochondriacs, kids with no sense of smell, and Kurt's favourite soft-centred badass, Puck. Kurt, himself, tried to avoid the place with all his might.

"Thank God my Burberry Cashmere V-neck Sweater is at the dry cleaner's," Kurt murmured, as he braced himself at the office door.

If Kurt was lucky, in ten minutes max he'll be able to fake permission to leave school then spend a blissful afternoon distracting his unwanted thoughts with some retail therapy á la Kurt.

"Excuse me Nurse Jackie, Mrs. Brown sent me here. I'll just call my –"

There was a muffled yelp as Kurt walked into where he assumed old Nurse Carmichael would be. Turning the corner, Kurt stopped in his tracks at the sight before him.

Sitting on the hospital bed, clutching at his arm was Dave _get-out-of-my-head_ Karofsky. His face was screwed up in a grimace, his bottom lip swollen and bruised from where he'd been biting back his pain.

Kurt began to back away; but it was too late.

"Oh, Mr. Hummel what seems to be the problem?"

Kurt winced as Karofsky's head snapped up at the sound of his name. Their eyes locked, and Kurt couldn't help feel the flip of his stomach as longing briefly flickered over Dave's – _Karofsky's_, he corrected – face.

"I …" his voice broke. Karofsky smirked; Kurt felt heat flood to his cheeks, "I have a note. But my dad would let me drive home."

"Wonderful, you can drive Mr. Karofsky here to the hospital for x-rays."

Karofsky spluttered. Kurt bristled.

Could this day get any worse?

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**I know, I know. Could that ending get any worse? I promise I'll make next chapter worthwhile. Stick it out, you wont regret it. Please review :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I know its been an age and you've probably given up on me. I apologise, I am notoriously lazy. That being said, I've spent the majority of my time seriously reconsidering where this story is going and how it's going to get there, so I feel I have a solid outline now. This chapter is very very short, and was written shortly after the third chapter. It was to be longer, but writer's block and a dissatisfaction with my writing put a damper on it's progress. I'm not overly happy with this chapter, but I've decided to post it regardless, just so you know I'm still alive, and to apologise for my slackness. Next chapter, while I can't guarantee a week until posted, will move in a more fluid direction. The story, from chapter five on, will also go at a much faster pace. Consider this chapter the interim.**

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Chapter Four

The car ride to the hospital was more than awkward. Despite staring at his feet the entire journey, Dave couldn't help notice the tight grip Hummel had on the steering wheel. It made him nervous.

"Watch it, will you?" Dave hissed, as Hummel slammed the breaks to avoid running a red light. In an almost morbidly slow fashion, Hummel faced Dave. His eyes were narrowed, his cheeks flushed, his head cocked primly to one side.

"Excuse me?" Hummel shrieked.

Despite trying his best to remain coolly indifferent, Dave couldn't help the slight smirk that settled at the sight of the flustered boy. In years to come, he'd realise his current behaviour was highly masochistic, but for now he'd settle for a pissed off Fairy if only to wonder just how far down the flushed skin went.

"You heard me, you drive like my Grandma Beatrice," Dave taunted. Hummel sped at the first sign of green. "Nah I was wrong, she's much better than you. Must be the Fag in you."

Suddenly, Hummel pulled over to the side of the road and switched off the ignition. When he began to speak in a surprisingly calm manner, Dave knew he was screwed.

"Oh now _this_ is embarrassing. Here I am, the Queen of all fags this side of Ohio and I've forgotten the Golden Rule of homosexuality: my supposed lack of driving skills. Why, let me just reach behind the Rainbow Flag I hang between car seats to get 'Homosexuality for Dummies', I'm sure I read _somewhere_ about this rule. Would you like to borrow it? Considering you're a, a, a fucking 'fag lover', you might want to brush up on your reading."

"Uhh – "

"I mean of all the completely moronic things you have said and done to me throughout my high school life, this has to take the cake. I'm driving you to the hospital, you recalcitrant ass, and you have the gall to taunt me about my driving? Did your parents drop you on your head during your formative years, or were you perhaps just born with an enlarged _asshole_ gene?"

"Shut up, Hummel, or you'll regret it!" Now Dave was just getting pissed.

"How _dare_ you threaten me," Kurt bellowed, and Dave was taken aback by the amount of anger radiating out of that petite body. "You, David Karofsky, are one of the lowest human beings I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. You cannot go around kissing someone, only to leave threatening phone calls in the early hours of the morning – "

"How do you – "

"Caller I.D.," Hummel snapped back.

Dave rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to make eye contact with Hummel, "I didn't – It wasn't. It didn't start like. I – "

Hummel groaned in frustration before heading back on the road. Dave couldn't help feel as though he'd royally screwed up. He had this weird lump in his throat that wouldn't go away. And he was sure Hummel had something to do with it.

* * *

**Thanks for all of your understanding, it's much appreciated. **


End file.
